Three
by Cricket24
Summary: Scott has a bad day. Sequel to "Home" and "Morning". Main characters include Scott, Logan and Jean.


_**Title:** Three - (sequel to "Home" and "Morning")_

_**Author:** Cricket24_

_**Rating:** T (PG-13 for language)_

_**Pairing:** Scott / Logan (Scott POV)_

_**Summary:** Scott has a bad day . . ._

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no one, although I wish I did._

_**Reviews:** Welcome and appreciated._

* * *

I nearly tripped down the stairwell in my haste to make it to class as fast as possible. I'm sure my collar was crooked, my hair barely combed, my briefcase overflowing with papers I'd stuffed into it on the way out my bedroom door.

Logan had lain lazily on our bed watching my every hurried move. And I knew if I didn't get out of there a.s.a.p. he was going to have a go at me again. My legs quivered at the thought as I approached my classroom . . . with class already in session . . . and had been for about fifteen minutes. Dammit! Logan was going to pay for this, big time.

I took a moment to compose myself, brushed at my shirt, pat down my hair, straightened my glasses (just in case), took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Jean stood at the front of the classroom. All eyes, including hers, turned in my direction as I slipped through the door. Great.

"Umm, sorry I'm late. I, uhh, yeah . . ." No excuses. Just start your lesson, Scott. Jeez, what was I gonna tell them anyway? I'm late because Logan returned home last night after being gone for three weeks and decided to fuck my brains out this morning? Yeah, that would go over really well. I'll stick with silence and mystery, thank you very much.

I walked over towards Jean and dropped my briefcase onto my desk, smiled sheepishly.

"Thanks for filling in for me. I appreciate it," I whispered to her. Then I got The Jean Grey Glare. Oh shit.

"Can I speak to you outside for a minute?" She whispered back.

I figured it was a rhetorical question because she walked away and out the door before I could answer. I gave my class a lengthy reading assignment and then exited the room closing the door behind me.

Jean turned to me, her fiery hair swaying past her shoulders. I loved her hair. It was a color I knew I was seeing as everyone else saw it. Red. Back when we were together she'd let me run my fingers through it as we lay in bed. I'd fall asleep to the silky feel of Jean's scarlet locks sliding through my fingertips.

"Are you not feeling well? Are you sick?"

"What? No. Why? Do I look sick?"

"Then why are you late for class? You're _never_ late for class, Scott. Except when . . ." she trailed off, and I could have sworn I saw her eyes flash. "He's home isn't he? Logan's home."

I felt the hot blush creep up my neck and fill out my cheeks. How the hell did I answer that other than . . .

"Yes."

And she _knew_.

Jean's lips thinned and she trembled as if trying to reel in her temper. She walked a few steps away from me then stalked back, arms crossed over her chest, shook her head.

"I'd expect this kind of behavior from someone like _him_, but not from you, Scott. This is so unlike you. You know better."

And _that, _the way she talked down to me as if I were a petulant child, pissed me the fuck off.

"Don't you have something you need to be working on in the lab?" I felt my own temper bubble to the surface, but there was no time for an argument now. "I have a class to get back to, so if you don't mind . . ."

I turned to go, but before I took a single step she grabbed me by the arm. I looked at her fist gripping my bicep and then into her face. This time there was no mistake. Her eyes _did_ flash, but not just with anger.

Jean had always been a hot-head, and many a night we'd sit up arguing over everything and nothing. Sometimes it was fun because I knew we'd get to have sweaty make up sex afterwards. But then it just got old. Towards the beginning of the end of our relationship her fruitless arguing would start with no justification or provocation, and she'd become angry at the drop of a hat. She hadn't acted like the Jean I knew and loved anymore. She was . . . different. Things had already begun to turn sour between us when Logan showed up at the mansion.

And then there were three. Logan's presence in our lives was just the knife's edge to the last thread that barely held together our unraveling relationship. I'd always love Jean. But I was no longer _in_ love with her. And it was going on seven months that we were no longer a couple. I was ok with that, well, Logan was keeping my mind off of it anyway. Jean had no such luxury. So to say the break-up was taking its toll on her was a bit of an understatement.

But who could blame her? The three of us lived under the same roof (when Logan wasn't off on one of his many quests). We all had to work together as a team – an X-Men team. And, oh joy, wasn't that fun? One of them couldn't stand to be "ordered around by me" – her words, not mine - and the other didn't like taking orders period. And God forbid I show any kind of special treatment or extra attention to one of them during a DR sim or a mission, lest I wanted an irritating earful about it later from the other. Like I said, loads of fun. But we were making it work. We made a good team. I guess you could say we just had a few kinks to work out.

Anyway, Logan and I didn't quite shout our affections for each other from the rooftop, but our budding private relationship wasn't exactly a secret. And Jean had stumbled upon him and me a time or two, interrupting a heated make-out session or a playful Danger Room romp – at least, that's what Iwas calling it. In any case, it's understandable that Jean was having a tough time with . . . things. Ever hear the phrase "two's company, three's a crowd?" Yeah, story of my life.

At times, those past few weeks while Logan was away, it did seem as if Jean became friendlier towards me, almost flirty. But we _were_ friends; that would never change between us. We'd been through so much together. She was Jean: Exceptionally smart, often kind, sometimes shy. So I noticed in the past weeks that she had been the Jean I remembered for most of our nine years together as a couple, before anger and jealousy consumed her. Before we grew apart. Before I ended our engagement.

So now, enter Logan, again, and this, this _other_ Jean returned. It was like flipping a switch. She was someone I didn't recognize. Someone I didn't . . .

Jean's dark eyes blazed. Had she been reading my mind just then? There was anger swirling in the chocolate depths, but something else lingered there too. I couldn't quite . . . _Ow! _

Her grip tightened, fingernails dug into the flesh of my arm through the thin shirt fabric. It fucking _hurt_.

"Let go of me, Jean."

I tried to use my best Cyclops: Leader of the X-Men voice but honestly, she was beginning to scare me. Jean didn't act like this. Ever.

I pulled away from her and she released me, so abruptly that I stumbled back nearly losing my balance.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" I hissed between clenched teeth.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt me feet leave the ground, my head and back slammed against the solid oak wall, the force of the impact snapping my teeth together painfully. My glasses nearly fell away from my eyes. It took me a few seconds to think through the haze of searing pain that was my head, neck and back. The wind had been knocked out of me. Breathing was difficult, agonizing.

_No, my love. What's wrong with _you_?_

Jean was in my head. At least I thought she was. I didn't see her lips moving, although my usually sharp sight was blurry, like I was seeing underwater. She was floating, her crimson hair fanned out, flowing weightlessly around her face. And her eyes, they glowed like the white hot embers of a fire. And was I seeing . . . wings? _God_, my head hurt.

Still pinned to the wall, I tried to speak, but Jean's tinny mind-voice echoed through my aching head again.

_I have stood back and let you roam freely. I let you go your own way. I gave you a chance to be with someone else, if only to prove that you can never really be without me. You are a part of me and forever will be. He may try to change you, he may be an insignificant, fleeting part of your life, but he can never and _will_ never have all of you. I am with you always._

Oh-kay. Either I was delirious or Jean was. The floating madwoman looked like Jean, but she didn't sound like her. Strange words and thoughts plowed through my mind. Twisted memories? I don't know. I couldn't think straight, godammit! Not to mention every bone in my body felt like they were strained to the limit, ready to snap. And all this because I was _late for class?_ Note to self: Remind the children to _never_ be late for one of Jean's sessions.

I knew a piece of Jean would always be in my head, just like a piece of me would always be in hers. That's just as it'd always been. We both accepted that. Even now, when we were no longer together, we were a part of each other. Always. But not like this. Never like this. Normally her presence in my head was reassuring and comforting, like a tiny candle flame burning in the darkest depths of my mind. I was never alone. But now that flame was hot, scorching, burning a brand in my consciousness, possessive and smothering. For the first time ever, I wanted her _out_.

"Jean--"

Okay, speaking out loud was not an option. I could barely breathe much less talk. And Jean-not-Jean didn't seem to be listening anyway. So I tried a different approach.

_**Jean, stop this! Listen to me! It's Scott. Please, Jean! I know you. You would never intentionally hurt me. You are hurting me now, Jean. You're hurting me.**_

I thought I saw her cringe, grab her head.

_Scott?_

_**Yes, it's me! It's Scott! Let me go, Jean. Please.**_

And then I was on the floor, sliding bonelessly to my hands and knees. I coughed, sucking in much need air, but oh God, even _that_ hurt. I felt like I'd been hit by an eighteen wheeler. Maybe I had been.

"Oh my God! Scott? Oh my God!"

I felt gentle arms come around me, helping me to a sitting position. Jean. The _real_ Jean. Trembling with fear now, not anger. Eyes watery with worry. Quivering hands touched me everywhere - chest, face, head, neck. I winced as her tenderly probing fingers skimmed over the lump on the back of my head.

"Ouch," I managed.

"Oh, Scott. I am so, so sorry. I don't-- I don't know what happened. I didn't mean-- I can't . . . " She couldn't finish. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks now.

I looked into her eyes. The heated spark, the blistering blaze was gone. Just endless brown intensity remained.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

And she laughed, brushing away her tears. She actually _laughed!_ At me!

"You're the one sitting on the floor bruised and barely able to breathe, and you're asking me if _I'm_ ok? Scott: ever the protector."

But she sobered quickly, eyes searching mine through ruby quartz. She took a deep breath, exhaling shakily, hand caressing my cheek.

"I _am_ sorry. I just got pissed off when you said . . . when you said that Logan was back. And realizing why you were late. I don't know what came over me. I just snapped. I . . . couldn't control myself. I've just been so stressed lately with everything going on with the Senate hearings and . . . _God_, I'm such a mess! And my powers. They've been . . . changing. I don't know how to explain it . . ." She trailed off glancing away from me. "Can we keep this between us? Please, just for now, till I get a handle on things?"

That little bombshell of a question got my attention.

"Keep it between us?" I started to rise. Jean helped me to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, my stomach a little queasy, but I stood on my own. "Jean, that was more that just being pissed off or _stressed_. You—"

The classroom door opened and Bobby's head poked out.

"Umm, everything ok out here? We heard some, uhh, stuff. Like a big bang or something."

He observed us both carefully, eyes lingering on me. I must have looked a little _off. _Being the source of a "big bang" would do that to a person, I guess.

"Everything's fine, Bobby." Jean assured.

Bobby spared Jean a glance then looked back at me. He was a sharp kid. He'd make an excellent member of the X-Men team someday.

"Mr. Summers?"

Looked like I had the final say in this matter. I gazed at Jean again. Her eyes pleaded with me to keep this incident just between the two of us, for now anyway.

_Please, Scott._

"It's okay, Bobby. I'll be back inside in a minute."

The boy nodded and disappeared, taking me at my word.

"Scott, I—"

"You need to talk to Charles. You need to talk to him about this or I will."

She merely nodded.

"You've been different, Jean. But what just happened wasn't just you being pissed off. You scared the shit out of me." That was easier to admit than I thought it would be.

"I know. I _know_. It scared the shit out of me too. And God, I _hurt_ you." She ran her fingers through my hair, leaned her forehead against mine. "I love you, Scott. You are the last person on this planet that I'd ever want to hurt."

I believed her. _This_ Jean would never hurt me. It's the floating Jean with the flowing, weightless hair and glowing eyes that I was worried about.

And that's all I could think about through the rest of the school day. Well, that and the pounding headache that wound its merry way down my neck and back, gnawing and twisting my already tender muscles. I swallowed some aspirin before my final class, but that worked as well as a leaky faucet drowning an elephant.

So when I finally, wearily walked into my bedroom at the end of the day, I was not a happy camper. I would never admit it aloud, but I was a cranky, ornery bundle of nerves.

That was until I saw Logan. Perched by the open window, he sat watching the last of the sun's rays peaking over the hillside past the front lawn. The sunset looked like nothing but different shades of pink to me, but to someone who saw in color, it must have been a spectacular sight.

Wearing nothing except a pair of unbuttoned, faded jeans and a crooked smile that did strange things to my heart rate, he turned towards me as I set my briefcase on the floor . . . and I winced.

His smile disappeared, lifted his nose in the air, nostrils flaring. Great. I was getting the Mama Bear smell check. Had to make sure the little cub was alright.

I undid the first couple of buttons of my shirt. The room felt incredibly stuffy all of the sudden. I attempted to make conversation. Not an easy task with Mr. Tight Lip himself.

"Hey. How was your day? Get to crack a few simulated skulls in the Danger Room?"

I smiled, or tried to. He didn't. Just continued to stare at me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I tried speaking again.

"I, uhh, feel pretty shitty. Achy, ya know? Long day."

I shrugged, and boy that was a mistake. An electric sting shot between my shoulder blades, leaving a burning trail in its wake. I unconsciously stiffened, but didn't wince, thank God.

Logan didn't miss a fucking trick.

"C'mere," he said.

"What?"

Brilliant, Scott. Just brilliant. Could you sound any more like a guilty child? What was it with people making me feel like such a bumbling kid today?

"Come. Here." A long pause. "Now."

Now who was giving the fucking orders? But I walked to him as confident as possible under the circumstances. I stood in front of him and held my arms out in the "now what?" pose.

"Turn around."

Shit.

I just stared at him. He stared back. Only three people in my life could actually meet my eyes through the ruby quartz. Jean, Professor Xavier, and the man who's striking eyes were currently locked with my own. The man who'd won every godamn staring contest against me ever . . . including this one. Fuck.

I sighed heavily, tired of this game. So I turned around. I felt Logan stand, move in close behind me. His body heat radiated soothingly against my sore back. I smelled earth and Logan, no soaps or colognes or any artificial scents to mask the man. Shivering, I bit my lip as his hands slid excruciatingly slowly up my arms, resting atop my shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

His lips brushed my ear. "You said you had a long day. That you feel 'shitty' and 'achy.' So I'm just gonna give my boy a nice, long, soothing massage."

I didn't have to see his face to know the bastard was grinning. He _knew_—

"_Jesus H. Christ!" _

It took me all of a half a second to pull away from his kneading fingers. And it definitely took more than just a little will power to keep myself from whimpering. His thumbs had struck the ground zero of pain, barely pressing into the raw, angry bruise I knew must have been spreading across my upper back.

"I smell Jeannie all over you, kid. And I smell your pain that ain't just aches in my book. You wanna tell me what the fuck went down today? Or am I gonna have to find out myself? And I will. Believe me."

"Logan, it's nothing. I—"

"Don't _fuck_ with me, Scott."

Shit. My real name. No nicknames meant no fucking around.

"I'm not. It's just—"

"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

He took a few intimidating steps towards me. I knew that Jean would never intentionally hurt me, but push him far enough and Logan just might.

"Don't make me repeat myself. Take it off or I'll slice it off. Your choice."

A long stretch of silence, neither of us moved. Then Logan growled and reached for me.

"Alright!_ Alright!_ Taking it off now." Jesus, the man had no patience.

I undid the rest of the buttons of my collared shirt, gingerly sliding it off. My white undershirt was a little trickier. A few grunts and profanities later and I was bare from the waist up.

Logan made a swirling motion with his finger. I was wise not to test him again, so I turned . . . and waited. Waited for the outburst, the primal growl of rage at the sight of what must have been a red-purple bruise that felt like it reached from one shoulder to the other and halfway down my back. But I heard nothing except Logan's quiet breathing and my own erratic heartbeat. Confused, I started to look back when I felt the slightest brush of damp, warm lips against my shoulder blade. And again, on my spine. The tip of his tongue at the base of my neck had me gasping, but not in pain. My skin tingled everywhere as Logan's skilled mouth grazed the expanse of my battered backside, dowsing the fiery burn with the moisture of his tender kisses.

"Who did this to you, Scott?" he whispered.

"Logan . . ."

"Tell me."

"I promised not to tell." Ok, now I _did_ sound like a petulant child.

"Did Jeannie do this to you?"

I didn't answer. Either answer I gave would have been a lie. Jean did not do this to me. The Jean-not-Jean did. Try explaining that one to Logan, or anyone else for that matter.

Now he was nibbling on my ear, kissing down my neck, sliding his hand down my abs, sly fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. My knees and my resolve were weakening by the second.

"I can smell her on you, bub. I don't like her scent on you. Did she put these marks on you? Did Jeannie mark what's mine?"

"It wasn't really her. Her power has been growing, changing. Jean couldn't stop—"

Logan pushed away from me so quickly I nearly collapsed to the floor. I heard his adamantium claws extend, like heavy knives drawn from a metal casing. I turned to see him lunge for the door, his feral roar echoing in my ears.

"I'll kill her!"

"Logan, no!"

I chased him, passing him to the closed bedroom door, blocking his exit. Brave, brave soul, I was. Or just fucking stupid.

"Move," he snarled.

I shook my head. Easy thing to do since my entire body was shaking. The man was downright scary in this state. Logan was gone now. Only Wolverine remained. Broad chest heaving, eyes wildly bright with the thrill of the hunt, teeth bared with a menacing gleam, long razor-sharp claws extending from each fist reflecting the last dim rays of the sun.

"I won't let you hurt her, Logan. That's not our way. That's not your way anymore either. Stand down."

Jesus fucking Christ _please_ stand down! I kept talking, let him hear my voice.

"Stand down. Listen to me. I'm ok, Logan. The bruises will heal. Not as fast as yours, but they _will_ heal. What happened was an accident. Jean, she – her powers, something's wrong with her powers. She couldn't control them, Logan, she couldn't control herself. If anyone knows how that feels, it's you and me. I won't be able to forgive you if you hurt her. I won't. Don't do this."

A long stretch of silence loomed between us. Only heavy breathing paced the torturously endless seconds.

"Then how do you expect me to forgive her for hurting _you_?"

Struck dumb, I didn't know what to say to that. His eyes met mine - Logan's eyes, not Wolverine's. Cautiously, I stepped away from the door, towards my feral lover. He was still in position to strike, crouching slightly, ready to spring. Arms extended away from his sides, claws primed to slash, face contorted with fury. Numb from confusion and exhaustion, I shook my head and stepped into him, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressed to his throat, bare chest to bare chest. Shuddering, I just held on.

"Please. Just stay with me. Please."

I felt him relax muscle by muscle. Claws retracted, and strong, burly arms came around me, pulling me closer.

"Ow."

"Sorry, sorry."

He sighed into my hair, arms sliding lower to the unbruised area around my waist. We stood there for a while, caged around each other. His anger and my fear falling away as we both clung unashamed.

In that moment I was pleased beyond words that Logan was back, that he was _home_. And it was such an unburdening relief to, for once, not have to be Cyclops: Leader of the X-Men, or Mr. Summers: teacher and mentor, or Scott: the friend, confidant, and son . . . I was just happy to be Logan's lover and be able to revel in the comfort of knowing that I belonged to him. That the "ever protector" had his own knight in shining armor.

"You say she'd never hurt you, but she did, Scott. She did hurt you. What if next time it's one of the students?"

I sighed because the same thought had been running through my head all day. I pulled out of his arms, looked into his eyes.

"She promised me she'd talk to Charles about what happened."

"I think we need to talk to Chuck about what happened, kid."

_We?_

"Just give her a couple days, ok? Jean knows her limitations – at least she did up until today. She'll go to Charles. I'm sure of it."

"Just like you're sure she'll never hurt you? Shouldn't there be an 'again' at the end of that statement?"

I only looked at him. He was right. I needed to be more careful around Jean until Xavier figured out what was wrong with her and her mutant powers. We all needed to be careful. But knowing Logan was watching my back meant that I could watch Jean's . . . if she needed me to.

Logan led me to our bed, pulled me down on top of him, careful not to jostle me or bump against my bruises. I rested my head on his shoulder, his arms loosely circled around me. And I felt safe. I heard him clear his throat, an unmistakable sign that Mr. Tight Lip was deciding on whether or not he wanted to speak.

"Slim?"

Bingo.

"Hmm?"

"I know you probably won't believe me, cuz well, I saw the fear in your eyes, could smell it on ya, but . . . I'd never hurt you. Me as Logan or me as Wolverine. I swear it on my life. I'd never hurt you. And that's the difference between me and Jeannie – uncontrollable powers or not. Inside, deep down, no matter who I am, who I become, or what I remember, I'll always know it's you. Cuz you're mine. And nobody hurts what's mine, especially me."

I didn't reply. I couldn't. A tightening in my chest and a thickening in my throat prevented any speech. It wasn't often that Logan chose to say more than one or two words at a time, so when he took the opportunity to think and say something like that, I knew he meant it and that it wasn't to be taken lightly.

And sometimes, when you wanted to tell someone everything that was in your heart, and everything you wanted them to know about how you felt about them, it took only three little words to say it all. Someday I might get up enough courage to say those words to him.


End file.
